Persian Prince. Egyptian Guy. Cowboy. Dr. Ahmed. A girl in a white wig named Ashley. Shawn Chidiac, aka myparentsaredivorced, has so many faces. He mimics so many different accents and does it perfectly. But what is his personal story? How did he start his journey in comedy? Why didn’t he call himself a comedian but finally started to? What is his family like (spoiler: very diverse)? And what role do his closest ones play in maintaining his mental health? Read Shawn’s story.

— Hey Shawn! Let's start our conversation with your family's story since you often mention them. Your mom was a single mother who had to work a lot. Can you tell me more about her job? What kind of work did she do?

— My mom's career journey is both diverse and inspiring. Starting off wrapping chocolates in an old part of Dubai at a shop owned by my future best friend's father, she found herself amidst various industries before landing in the automotive sector. She was recruited by Brabus, which now has a big name in the industry, but then it was a little-known company. At the time, she was working for Gargash Group, the local family business with distribution rights for Mercedes in the Middle East.

Driven by her entrepreneurial spirit and as a single mother in early Arabia, she ventured to start her own business. In 2002, she opened her restaurant. Her dedication to it was unmatched, but she continued to excel in the automotive industry as well. Known for her honesty and transparency, she was highly sought after by customers not for making the most sales but for giving genuine advice — even advising against purchases when it was in the client's best interest.

Despite facing rampant sexism — especially after becoming the first director for Brabus outside of Germany and expanding their presence across the Middle East — she never let these challenges deter her spirit. Her integrity and resilience not only defined her professional success but also earned her profound respect and a cherished place in people's hearts.

On a personal level, despite the difficulties and after facing immense trauma during the war in Lebanon, my mom remained fiercely independent. I once offered her my blessing to date if she ever wanted, only to be met with laughter and appreciation for the thought. Her strength and independence have been a guiding light in our lives, teaching us the value of integrity and the power of resilience in the face of adversity.

— Wow.

— My mom has been running from bomb raids since she was born, so she's been through a lot. You wouldn't expect her to shy away from anything. Long story short, she faced so much adversity, especially working at Brabus. It got to a point where she said, 'You know what? It's not even worth it. I have my own business. I have my own life running. These people are just jealous — German men trying to smear your name.' Eventually, she left Brabus to focus on her restaurant, which I have worked in since I was a kid.

Later, she briefly worked for a company that handled investment-based passports but quit after discovering their unethical practices. When my mom realised they were scamming clients, she threatened legal action, but it got too messy, so she walked away and never looked back, focusing solely on the restaurant. In 2023, seeing her health decline and her neglect of her well-being, I had to forcibly close the restaurant. Despite her resistance, I told her we needed to shut it down for her health’s sake. I have taken on more financial responsibility, allowing us to focus on my career without needing the restaurant's income. Shortly after, I quit my job to pursue comedy full-time.

— You mentioned in your interview with Khamsa that you visualise your childhood in vivid colours — reds, oranges, and some blues — because peaceful moments were so rare in your house. Could you expand on that? What did you mean?

— My house has always been a mixed bag of crazy people. Growing up, there was always chaos. From the start, I had this rigorous routine — waking up at five in the morning and catching the bus that picked me up because I lived far from my school. The drive alone used to take half an hour, but with all the stops to pick up about 50 people on the bus, it felt like forever. I was the second person to get picked up, so it was a long time on the bus every morning.

When I got home from school, the first thing would be a call from my mom asking if I was doing my homework. Of course, I would say yes, but she knew better. She would drive from her restaurant, which was really far, all the way to Jebel Ali from near the World Trade Center to check on me, then back to work — an hour and a half each way. Looking back, it seems like crazy decision-making on her part, but that’s how she managed — micromanaging was her way, the only way she knew how to ensure everything was on track.

Then, when my sister got home from school, we would fight — just sibling things, you know? By the time we finished fighting, it was time to eat, and then my mom would be back again to check if we actually did any homework. We hardly did, so it ended up in more fights than bedtime.

The moments of tranquillity were rare. They came during summers when I would go to Lebanon to stay with my grandparents in the mountains. Such a stark contrast to Dubai — there, I could really connect with nature, away from the desert's harshness. We would have family breakfasts on the first day of the weekend. Those meals, like the big crab and shrimp boil, were little shelters from the chaos, just us laughing and enjoying the time together. It made all the difference.

My mom was always genuine with her emotions. When she was angry, you felt it was from a real place, and when she was happy, it was pure joy. She created these little pockets of happiness wherever she could. It wasn’t easy for her, and the more I grew up, the more I understood and appreciated what she did. She wasn’t the devil; she was just doing her best in the whirlwind of our lives.

— You also mentioned wanting your mom to like you because she often seemed angry or distant. Given she was working alone and raising kids, that's understandable. But I imagine this has had a significant impact on you. Has it?

— I always knew she loved me. That was just an intrinsic feeling we are supposed to have as human beings. I knew she loved me, but it never appeared the way I wanted. She showed her love differently from what I craved as a child. The moments when I felt it most were maybe when she would take a call, and I would lay on her lap, and she would play with my hair. That was perfect. But as soon as the call ended, it was back to, "Did you do your homework?" and the chaos resumed. It wasn’t that I needed her to like me, but more that I wanted her to show love in the way I understood it.

I found myself wanting to make her laugh because her laughter meant she wasn’t angry, and that created a safer, happier place for both of us. Looking back, I see it was a complex web of emotions, but at the time, all I wanted was her happiness because it brought peace. I wanted to ease her into relaxation because life was just easier when she was happy.

When she laughed on the phone with friends but not with me, I used to think it was because she didn’t like me. She would assure me she did, which left me feeling conflicted — believing she didn’t like me yet knowing deep down she did. As I grew older, this moulded my attitude; I oscillated between not caring what she thought of me and desperately wanting her approval.

In my relationships, I have always aimed to be someone who would make her proud, steering clear of being a disappointment. My mom often compared me to my father whenever I did something annoying or foolish, saying, "You’re exactly like your father." As a kid who idolised my dad, that hurt. Only as I grew older did I start to understand the complexities of their relationship.

This tangled web of emotions and desires shaped my childhood and continues to influence how I navigate relationships today.

— How many years have you lived with your dad?

— My dad was out of the picture quite early on, though my mom tried to make peace with their issues so my sister and I could maintain some relationship with both parents. But things got very complicated due to my father’s decisions and the people he chose to be with, leading to a cluster of problems. Despite this, my mom really wanted both my sister and me, especially me, to have him in our lives. My relationship with him was somewhat easier than my sister’s, which was far more complex. 

As the only male in the house, I felt pressured to take on many responsibilities that should have been his. As I got older, this bred a grudge because I was dealing with responsibilities that weren’t appropriate for my age. Now that I am older and more financially stable, I am less resentful and try to maintain whatever relationship we can have. Growing up, I saw him at least once a week or once a month, but as I grew older, naturally, more distance formed.

I am very family-oriented. I love spending time with my family, whether it’s a quick breakfast or a short trip. Visits to Lebanon, where my father lives, aren't a chore for me. I make it a point to see him, take him out for lunch, and catch up. Given the tough situation in Lebanon, he often needs financial or other forms of support, which I provide as needed.

I have come to see him as just a human who’s made mistakes rather than an idol who should have been perfect. Realising that my anger was more about my own feelings, I decided to let go and move on. Everyone gets a forgiveness card. There’s no point in holding onto anger. It's been an interesting dynamic between him and me.

— What does he do?

— He exists.

— And does your mom somehow maintain the relationship with him now?

— She does. You know, the past is the past. And my grandmother, God rest her soul, who passed away a few years ago, was really the anchor for my family. My father's mother played a very strong role in keeping the family together, even though my parents had separated. She insisted that my mom always come to the house to see her and that we stay with her in Lebanon along with my other grandparents. There was a mix of influences, but my grandma ensured that everyone in the family stayed connected despite the differences and the pain, which I am very grateful for now. At the time, I resisted it; I didn't want it. But she insisted that we stay under one roof, which was beneficial in the long run.

My dad had lived here in Dubai before either losing his job or getting fired — I am not sure which — and then he moved back to Lebanon. He had been sending all his savings there, hoping it would be safe in the banks. Then the banking crisis hit, and everyone's money got stuck. I encouraged him to start a business to do many things, but it's hard to start over at a certain age. I doubted the banks would return the money, but ultimately, it was his life, and I didn't push too hard.

So, he retired a bit earlier than he had hoped, thinking his money would be safe in Lebanon, but then the crisis hit, and it's still ongoing. Now, as a grown man, he has his sister, his brother, and both me and my sister to help take care of him if needed. But yeah, interesting life choices were made.

— You mentioned your grandmother, and I recall you saying the most peaceful place for you is where she is buried. Could you share a bit more about that?

— Yeah, so this is about the grandmother I mentioned earlier, the one who insisted that the family stay united. She passed away a couple of years ago, I guess during COVID, but not from it. I often wonder whether it would have been better if she had survived. Maybe she knew her time was coming and that extending it wouldn't have been worth the pain. Who knows?

Her death left a big void. Everything kind of fell apart after she was gone — my cousins, my aunts, and my father’s sister ended up in conflict, and my uncle moved to Dubai. It was like a big shift happened; even family members who used to visit stopped coming. We all knew this would happen when she left us.

We buried her in the cemetery in the village of the cedar forest, where my father’s side of the family is from, in Lebanon. The cemetery is on the edge of a mountain, overlooking a valley. The view from her grave is breathtaking, about 1,800 to 2,000 meters above sea level. I find cemeteries peaceful, with a tranquil energy that feels different from the rest of the world.

There’s a cemetery here in Dubai where I visit my best friend, who passed away some time ago. It shares that sombre, peaceful atmosphere. I don’t go often, just on anniversaries and birthdays. There’s a feeling of neutrality there — no positive, no negative. It’s where life both begins and ends because you have children and old people buried there, and it feels like an energy portal of sorts.

I don’t believe that those who pass away remain at their burial sites. I don’t believe my grandmother is there or that my best friend is in the cemetery here. I see it more as an exit point, the last place they were physically present. Despite its sadness, the cemetery where my grandmother is buried is surrounded by beauty — the trees, the valley, and a huge waterfall opposite it. It's strangely beautiful.

My grandmother was incredibly strong, playing both the role of a grandmother and a grandfather during my upbringing. Once she made up her mind about something, that was it — nothing could change it. That was just how she was, and she left a lasting impact on us all.

— Seems like your mom and your father’s mom had something in common, right?

— Oh yes! And that's why they got along so well; they were both stubborn but usually agreed on most things. When they didn't, they simply avoided the topic, so it never became a point of contention. However, my mom's side of the family is another story — they are truly wild. I relate much more to my mom's side than my dad's, probably a 70/30 split.

Let me paint a picture of what Christmas looked like to give you an idea: Christmas Eve was always on my mom's side. Picture this — by four in the morning, everyone, including my grandfather with a glass balanced on his head, was still up. My grandma would be throwing things at him for his antics, my uncle would pick him up when he stumbled, and the kids, myself included, throw things around. It was complete chaos — music blaring, food everywhere, everyone singing and dancing whether we were in a mansion or a cramped apartment.

In contrast, Christmas Day with my dad’s side was a serene scene: drinks, turkey, maybe a soft piano or church music in the background, everyone speaking softly, a stark difference from the boisterousness of the night before.

One of my most vivid memories from my mom's side involves my grandfather when I was seven. He gave me a hunting rifle, which was as tall as I was at that age, and filled my pockets with shotgun shells. He told me to have fun and just not kill anyone. I spent that day roaming around our village in the mountains, shooting at bottles and trying to hunt birds until I ran out of bullets. When I asked him for more, he just laughed, grabbed his gun, and took me out hunting with him.

My grandfather was an old-school, tough man who joined the military at 17 and lived a rugged life. He even enjoyed napping on the floor and would sometimes eat a whole onion like an apple when he felt under the weather, a trait I have inherited.

My father’s father, whom I barely knew as he passed when I was very young, was the opposite — quiet, reserved, and intelligent. He was an architect whose meticulous drawings could be mistaken for prints because of their precision.

The contrast in my family’s dynamics — from the lively, sometimes wild maternal side to the calm, disciplined paternal side — shaped who I am. Each side brought different elements to my upbringing, from the chaos of family gatherings to the quiet moments of reflection. It's a rich heritage that I cherish deeply.

— You have mentioned wanting to be a comedian since childhood. Do you recall when that idea first came to you? When I was a kid, I didn't even know about this profession; I thought about being an archaeologist.

— By the way, I initially wanted to be an archaeologist because I found the idea of uncovering ancient artefacts incredibly fascinating. The thought of discovering pieces of history was thrilling, but soon enough, I realised the extensive learning involved was more than I bargained for. So, I shifted gears.

My pivot to comedy was almost accidental. I remember watching Russell Peters on YouTube with my mom, and she would laugh so hard at his jokes. Seeing her joy, I thought, 'That’s what I want to do.' When I told my mom I wanted to be a comedian, her face lit up. That response from her was a revelation — this was how I could succeed.

When I declared, 'I want to be a comedian,' she was all for it, saying, 'Let’s go, amazing!' But then I mentioned there’s no school for comedy, and I should probably leave school to pursue it. Her reaction was priceless — she was startled yet amused by my logic. She loves to retell this story, reminding me how I tried to use my newfound career ambition as a ticket out of school.

In my young mind, it was perfect — I would make my mom laugh and get to skip school. It was a win-win. For me, the best part was whenever she laughed, she wasn't shouting. That was all the encouragement I needed.

— You have mentioned that you don't typically identify as a comedian, preferring to see yourself more as a content creator. Why is that? And in your view, what defines someone as a comedian?

— I have always hesitated to call myself a comedian because I felt like I wasn't doing it at the level to deserve the title. It is like, I make good food occasionally, but that doesn't make me a chef, right? I mean, on paper, I am a comedian. I have performed stand-up for a while, held my own theatre shows, and performed in some fantastic places. I am proud and grateful for these opportunities, but to me, a true comedian is someone who dedicates significant effort to their craft.

At first, I didn't think I fit that mould. The comedians I knew said you are only a comedian if you are doing shows nightly, constantly working on material, hanging out at comedy clubs. I wasn't doing any of that; I was just performing. I didn’t even write my jokes down; I improvised a lot of my material and never revisited it through recordings or notes.

But okay, I think I am a comedian now. I mean… I have had sold-out shows every month for the past year, each with audiences of 100 to 200 people. People have invested their time and money to see my performances, which is incredibly valuable. Acknowledging that I now feel comfortable calling myself a comedian. I might not be a great one yet, but I am definitely on that path, and I am planning to start sharing videos from past shows I have never released.

— Do you remember your first major show?

— Oh yes, I did it at Zabeel Theater, which was a turning point. It was a solo show with about 600 or 700 seats, and despite a major storm that hit on the day, causing some to cancel, we had nearly full occupancy. 

Now, while I feel proud and grateful for the support I have received, I also struggle with a bit of denial, wondering why people are so drawn to my performances. It is a mix of gratitude and surprise, and every time I start to feel proud, I have to remind myself to stay humble. But yes, I am a comedian, and that is something I am finally happy to claim.

— You don't write jokes, so it is always an improvisation, right? Have you ever been in a situation where you had nothing to say?

— Every single time, it is a panic situation for me. Whenever I get on stage, I feel like I am going to throw up and mess myself up at the same time. It is almost worse when I try to prepare for my theatre shows because I end up doubting my material, wondering, 'Why would anyone find this funny?'

So, I have adopted a hybrid method for my comedy. I start with a big block of ideas and chip away at it until I can roughly shape it into a statue. I identify where the head, arms, chest, legs, and feet will be, but I don't finalise the details. Most comedians insist you should know your material by heart, but that approach doesn't feel authentic to me.

I once fell out of love with comedy when I learned how structured and repeated professional tours can be. Watching Chris Rock's tour, where he repeated the same joke in multiple cities, made me realise that wasn't what I wanted from comedy. That realisation pushed me to develop a rougher, more spontaneous style. I outline my routines with bullet points — like a story about my grandfather or an anecdote about my mom — but leave room for improvisation in the delivery.

Despite appearing relaxed on stage, I am always a breath away from losing my composure. But I have learned to embrace the silence and connect with the audience, finding comfort in making brief personal connections. If I am nervous, I will admit it to the audience, which usually helps to break the ice and makes everyone more comfortable.

I am still very early in my career and consider myself at the beginning of a huge learning curve. While I have mastered some basics, like holding a microphone and maintaining my composure, there is so much more to learn. As for consuming content about comedy, I generally avoid it unless it is stand-up because I prefer to keep my perspective fresh and original.

— Okay, now about your characters. Let’s start with Ashley. How did she appear?

— That is my sister's wig. I was just bored, honestly. I was supposed to be studying for university exams, but instead, I started thinking about the most annoying person to talk to — you know, like someone who chews with their mouth open. That sparked the idea for the video. It reminded me of some girls at my university, or at least how they appeared in my mind.

One day, I went into my sister's room to stir up some trouble — something siblings often do just to disrupt each other's peace. She was relaxing, and there on her table was a wig. She said it was from a Halloween a few years back; she had found it while cleaning her room. So, I grabbed the wig, threw a pillow at her, turned off the light, and went to my room. That is when I made the video.

I showed it to my sister first, and she thought it was hilarious. She encouraged me to post it, but I hesitated because it was a bit weird — me, a guy, wearing a wig in a video in the Middle East. I worried about the potential backlash in 2017. But she reassured me, saying it was just a joke and would be fine.

When I posted the video, it unexpectedly blew up. Back then, I had about 2,000 followers, but the video quickly racked up twenty thousand views, which was astonishing at the time. Now, those numbers might not impress me as much, but then it was a big deal.

The video was somewhat inspired by my sister’s unique way of speaking, which I always found a bit annoying. I would tease her about it, and she would call me an a******, which, to be fair, I was. But it all tied back to that wig — it was just perfect for the character and added that extra touch to the humour.

— Next one! Persian Prince.

— Yes, every Iranian guy I have ever met — funny enough, I used my sister’s jewelry for the portrayal, mixed with some of our Halloween costume pieces. I had a best friend at the time who was Iranian, and through him, I met a wide variety of Iranians. Not all of them were like this, but many dressed and behaved in a way that inspired the character I created: the Persian Prince. He is this supremely arrogant guy who acts like there is no problem he can’t fix.

The first video I made with this character was styled like an MTV Cribs episode, where he is walking through his domain, and it was incredibly fun to play him. It was a real boost for my ego — playing someone so overflowing with confidence that he never doubts himself for a moment.

— Also, there is a disclaimer on your Instagram. Why did you do it? 

— You know, my goal is simply to make people laugh, including myself, and I am careful not to hurt anyone in the process. It is important for me to clarify that my videos are not about mocking any race, culture, or group of people. I create silly characters based on observations from real life, amalgamating various traits into a single persona.

I aim to keep things light and humorous, encouraging people to laugh at the characters and perhaps see a bit of themselves or others in a non-harmful way. When everyone can laugh together, it breaks down barriers. So, if there is laughter all around, nobody feels targeted. My disclaimer is there to assure viewers that while my sketches might tread into areas of stereotypes or accents, these are just elements of the characters, not commentaries on any culture. I focus on crafting distinct characters who happen to have accents rather than letting the accents define them. This approach is about bringing joy and entertainment, nothing more.

— When you first started performing comedy, what was the audience's reaction?

— Overall, I would say the reaction to my work has been about 98% positive. There are always a few who don't agree or appreciate it, and they tend to be more vocal online. Receiving intense DMs and messages is part of navigating the wild nature of the internet. While it can be hurtful to read certain comments, there is a level of detachment that comes with the digital space — things people would likely never say face to face.

I can usually sense when someone isn't fond of my content or doesn't find me funny, and that is alright. Not everyone has to like what I do, and it doesn't mean they dislike me as a person. People often confuse me with the characters I portray, not realising that I am much more than my performances. There is Shawn the brother, Shawn the friend, Shawn, who loves to cook and travel. Each aspect of my life paints a different picture of who I am.

For example, if I were to defend a friend in a confrontation, one person might see me as aggressive, while another sees a loyal friend. People view you through the lens of their experiences and biases. Recognising that helps me distance myself from negative feedback and understand that not every critique is a reflection of my entire self. It is all part of being visible on the internet, but despite the challenges, it remains a rewarding experience.

— Now, let’s talk about mental health. We often see famous comedians and actors, like Jim Carrey, who appear happy and jovial in public but may struggle internally. Can you share how you relate to this? Are you the same person in private as you are in public?

— Yeah, it is like one of the many roles you assume daily. At work, you are inquisitive, creating space for answers. Then maybe at home, you are less engaged, simply wanting to unwind. I have a philosophical side that engages with deep life decisions. I love exploring various philosophies, even those I disagree with, because they challenge my perspective.

I have many facets to my personality. There is the geek who loves history videos and gaming into the night, the romantic who enjoys preparing special dinners, the thrill-seeker who jumps out of planes, and the family man who cherishes time with loved ones. I think sticking to one aspect can be depressing; I try to rotate my focus because of my varied responsibilities.

Comedy is my main pursuit, but I also cherish having different outlets to break away from potential monotony. I am equally invested in business; I have always had a knack for it. Even as a kid in seventh grade, I was entrepreneurial, selling mini jawbreakers at school until I got suspended for it. Business has always fascinated me.

Maintaining mental health is crucial, and though it can sometimes be challenging, my diverse interests and supportive community — my family — play a huge role in keeping me balanced. They prevent me from slipping into darker spaces.

The foundation of joy is simple. If you connect with basic pleasures and appreciate what you have, you can remain stable. Today, for instance, I appreciate that I can have this conversation midday and then head to a shoot. It is not just about the paycheck; it is about appreciating the freedom and control over my schedule. This perspective helps me enjoy life more by focusing on simple joys rather than materialistic goals. It is all about appreciating the little things.

— Have you ever faced depression?

— Certainly. I mean, you don't grow up in a household like mine and stay happy all the time. I barely saw my mother or father, I was bullied at school, and I didn't even see my siblings much. As a kid, you crave nourishment, love, and joy, which I lacked. I didn’t have many friends. My mom was always working, and when she was home, we often argued about school. I am pretty sure I have ADHD and dyslexia too. I sometimes see letters and think, "Yes, this is exactly what it says," then I look again and realise it is different.

Growing up was tough. I didn't even have my first kiss until I was 17. I was overweight and would emotionally eat. The depression definitely shifted into something else over time. When I started working, I would go to work in tears because I hated my job. All the money I made went to my family. So, I was working all these hours, not having fun, not travelling, without friends or a girlfriend, just working all the time and not even enjoying the money. I was doing a job I hated just to pay for a house I never wanted to be in.

It lasted until I quit my job. Depression comes in different forms and intensities. Mine was very functional. There were days I didn’t want to exist, just wanted to turn off the lights, stay in bed, and disappear. But I couldn’t. I had a family to take care of, and giving up wasn’t an option for me. I understand some people get stuck and need medication, but for me, not doing anything wasn’t an option. It was instilled in me from a young age to keep going no matter what.

Even now, there are moments of depression. I am in a new apartment, I have a sold-out show, life is great, and yet I feel sad sometimes. Why? Because when you spend so much time making others happy, you often neglect your own happiness. I am still figuring out life, but yes, depression is something that comes and goes, and I have learned to accept that.

— And you were bullied at school because of your appearance or what?

— I was really fat.

— And when did the bullying stop?

— Yes, at some point, it just kind of stopped. Growing up, I was a bigger kid, and I started to learn martial arts — Jiu-Jitsu, kickboxing. Whenever anyone said something, I was like, "Let's fight." After a few fights, especially when you break someone's tooth for calling you fat, not many people want to call you fat anymore. By the end of high school, the bullying had pretty much stopped. It just became less and less until it was almost nothing because I was also very angry at that time — angry at my family, at school, at myself. So, I was violent, always looking for a reason to explode over anything, however small.

Now, I can see that bullying has transformed. People still try with words or get in your face physically. I remember being at an Iranian restaurant, a cuisine I love, and a table of older men called me over. One was polite, but another, clearly the kind of older guy still chasing younger women, had a bad attitude. He dismissively asked who I even was, and I retorted with something cheeky that made his friends laugh, and he ended up shaking my hand. It taught me about ego and how quickly it can get bruised, especially in social situations like that. It is fascinating to see where my own ego lies and what might trigger it, reflecting on how I react when I see it in others.

— You were asked (again, in an interview with Khamsa) who you wanted to have dinner with. Your answer was: Genghis Khan, Buddha, and your dad. If you could ask each of them one question, what would it be?

— I mean, this man Genghis Khan, I don't think people understand how much history he has reshaped in his entirety. He was literally like nothing — just a child in a village, in a tribe that was not doing well. And he really absorbed this energy of being chaos and channelled it. He directed that pure chaos and doubled down on aggression, fear, anger, and violence. It makes me wonder, what if he could do the same but peacefully? How different would that direction have been? I wouldn’t ask him any questions. I would just sit and watch him exist because you can learn so much just by observing someone. If I asked him something, he would probably try to kill me anyway. But I would want to see how he behaves, how he moves, who he has next to him, how he sits on a chair, if he sits on a chair, how he eats, does he look you in the eye — I would just be interested in observing such an iconic character in history who, for a short time, removed a percentage of the world's population. I think he killed 13% of the world's population. Not that that is a good thing, but that is talent. Horrible, but talented. There were no cruise missiles, and no bullets; he had to send people physically to do this. There was no detachment; he was fully attached to everything he did. So, I would want to learn about how and why he did all that — just interesting to see his thoughts and just to see his behaviour and what that entailed. 

And Buddha, just to see if he is real, you know? The idea of Buddha, the prince who fell asleep under the tree. I want to know if that story is real. If so, how? What state of Nirvana did he get into? Is it something that we have all experienced? Is that something that I would also know? That you know, this peaceful religion of yours has turned very violent. How would you change that? It is just interesting to share those stories.

And I think another person I would love to sit down within history would probably be Leonardo da Vinci. Just to see what he was like at the time. How? Because you can’t explain how creativity works, but you can understand — the crazy one can recognise crazy. And I think I am just crazy enough to understand how he draws. 

I would want to see what happened to him to make him think of a helicopter. You know, he was the first person to design a helicopter, and no one talks about that. But he designed the first helicopter, and had he been a little bit ahead of his time, he would have done it.